


Black Lace

by PrettyAwkward



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom John, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Dom Sherlock Holmes, Dominant Sherlock, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John wears lace, M/M, Possessive Sherlock, Rough Sex, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock always tops, Sub John, Submissive John Watson, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyAwkward/pseuds/PrettyAwkward
Summary: Sherlock gives John a set of black lace lingerie. Then he gets to enjoy his present.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 109
Collections: Festive Johnlock Collection





	Black Lace

With his patented scowl, John walks into their bedroom wearing the set of black lace bra and underwear Sherlock had gifted him for Christmas; the deep lines of his face etched in perturbed resignation.

"I look fucking ridiculous," He growls.

"Nonsense." Sherlock exclaims, his mouth practically watering at the sight. People always tell him how good he looks in black, it contrasting with his white pale skin. The sight before him makes Sherlock instantly disagree. Against the black fabric, John's skin tone looks magnificent. His body, those parts not exposed to the sun, doesn't have the bronze coloring of his face and hands. And yet, the natural ruddiness against the black fabric is absolutely salivating. "You look gorgeous."

And he does. Sherlock has always been fascinated by the juxtaposition of the femininity of women's clothes and the masculinity of the male body. He's tried on himself of course. But ever since he's been able to claim John as his husband he's become the natural model for this kink of his.

John is after all the ideal man.

"Was this really the largest set you could find?" John gruffs out, the lingerie stretching almost to the breaking point across his torso and groin. Sherlock doesn't answer, too busy ogling his husband right now because it's a true feast. The delicate scallops of the lace compare nicely with the breadth and power of John's biceps and chest. How it pulls taut across his nipples, and how Sherlock yearns to bite those nipples.

Moving his roving eyes downward Sherlock finally reaches his prize. Where all of Sherlock's dreams come true. Growing up Sherlock never really had prurient thoughts. Sure he would wank occasionally, and of course he always enjoyed seeing men's cock. Gayer than a blue jay, is what Mrs Hudson chirped fondly when she caught him with a soldier magazine. But he never really _loved_ cock, not until now, not until John. A part of him recognizes how it's an almost darkly possessive way of thinking in some ways, wanting to be in control of John in this sexual way. In control of his cock. Perhaps it has something to do with it and his bollocks being the center of John's biological "manhood."

And it isn't a bottom thing. He scoffs at the idea of people thinking because he loves a powerfully built man with an impressive cock it somehow makes him a bottom. Far from it, he never bottoms. And John is quite agreeable to anything in the bedroom as it turns out, so long as he gets to come. That John is a hunk and Sherlock gets to dominate him, well, that's ten times more fascinating than the thought of topping some guy who just screams and whimpers during sex like a girl.

All of which isn't really what Sherlock is thinking now. He's too busy feeling like a horny fourteen year old to self-psychoanalyzing himself. Right now all he can think of is how ridiculously delicious the panties show off John's best features. Part of dark brown pubic hair has been pushed flat and covered, the surrounding nest pushing outward, and likewise the top half of John's dick pokes out and rests on top of the panties, pushing them down under the weight. His balls hang on either side having been pushed out by the small strip of material.

With a lurch Sherlock suddenly realizes that John isn't hard, and now that he notices John is shifting his weight back and forth, He's clearly uncomfortable, which is unacceptable.

"Come here and turn around," Sherlock orders. John does as he's told.

As in the rest of him, John Watson has a wonderful arse. At least in Sherlock's estimation. He doesn't really care what anyone else has to say on the matter, not even John's own self consciousness. Every time John grumbles about having to wear suspenders or wishing he could get some injections or some other nonsense, Sherlock immediately dississes such idiotic notions. A masculine arse is what turns Sherlock on and he won't stand for John not realizing how perfect it is.

“I want to touch you, god, I want it so much,” Sherlock whispers, practically panting now. Without getting John's assent his hands find themselves mapping out John's entire body. He puts a finger to John's hole, next to the strip of black cloth, eliciting a deep groan, the sound only encourages him to push it in all the way. He continues to map out John's body with hands and his mouth, kissing and licking his backside, turning him around to do the same to his front. Finally he pushes aside the bra to reveal John's brown nipples, already hard. He bites them once each and in turn is rewarded with a rumble of satisfaction.

"I want to fuck you."

John, who had closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the feel of Sherlock's ministrations, looks suddenly at Sherlock with a look of warmth and mirth. "Thought as much, you ass. Don't think I didn't know why you bought this in the first place."

"That has nothing to do with it, John." He scoffs. "I wanted you to see how amazing you look." John looks disbelieving. "Gorgeous? Beautiful? Incredible?" Sherlock bites his lips, contemplating. "What if I say how handsome you look?"

"Handsome?" Now it's John who scoffs. "In a bra and panties?"

Sherlock grabs both of his shoulders and says in his fiercest voice. "John Watson, right now, seeing you in women's lingerie, and I say this with complete and utter honesty, I can't think of a single male, real or fictional, who could compare to your masculinity."

John's mouth falls open at that. Perhaps the sincere and possessive tone Sherlock uses actually reaches him. John's face starts to darken with flush and a happy-shy smile crosses his lips. "Um, really?"

"You have no idea." Sherlock says.

John chuckles with mirth, his body language now far more comfortable Sherlock notes. Sherlock decides its time he gets his own present.

Submissive to a fault, John allows himself to be pushed to the bed and coaxed to lie on his back.

Sherlock starts by sliding his hand along John's ankles and then up along his powerful legs and thighs, enjoying the feeling of the coarse hairs gliding under his fingers. A shiver runs through Sherlock when he reaches his groin. By now John is erect, jutting out proud, big and hard. Sherlock reached for the lube and coated his fingers. He opened his lips wide, his mouth salivating with the need to taste John. With greedy licks, he laps at the bitter-salty precome before sucking on the top half of the glans. John groans, a deep guttural sound that stirs an new wave of desire in Sherlock.

John is a glutton for dual pleasures and Sherlock makes sure to oblige both. He pushes his finger back inside while he allows John to thrust deeper inside his mouth. It feels good for Sherlock too, having these duel sensations. John's boiling hot body around his finger, John's boiling hot cock in his mouth. He breaths through his nose, accepting more and more of his husband, never stopping his hands caress of John's muscular thighs straining to keep from thrusting too deep. Sherlock loves this - John keeping himself in control, in check. Doing it for Sherlock. It's a trip of high power. When half of John's cock is in his mouth he gags involuntarily, eyes watering. He doesn't know why but he loves how _sorry_ John looks when this happens. Downright apologetic. Again that darker side of him thinks on how it gives him something to hold over John. Not that John would ever say no to bottoming. He never has, but he's always especially obliging when at times like this.

John's cock is impossibly hard now, purple and swollen.

Sherlock pulls off and smirks. "So hard, my John. Look at you? So eager?"

"Fuck. God, Sherlock, you know I am. Fuck me already."

Without taking off the black lace, Sherlock pushes it aside and pressed all the way. The lewd groan of pleasure that comes from John's chest when this happens is easily the most erotic thing Sherlock has ever heard. It's matched only when Sherlock finds John's prostate.

"Harder. God. Harder, Sherlock." John begs and roars.

He looks amazing like this Sherlock thinks. Hand fisting his cock, forehead vein bulging with blood, hips slamming back against Sherlock again and again, a total animal in need to find his climax. A climax only Sherlock can give him. Sherlock continues fucking him, goes as fast as he can.

“You feel incredible, John...wondrous, so perfect around me." Sherlock cries out in a voice full of affection and desire.

_We fit together so perfectly_

Sherlock can't last, not with his magnificent John beneath him like this

“John… ah ah ah I - come with me!” Sherlock suddenly screams, screams as he climaxes, thrusting within John's body. John gives a sharp, hoarse shout and does what he's told. He comes in thick hot ribbons across his own chest.

After what feels like eons, Sherlock finally finds his voice. "You-you nearly reached your own neck. That must mean - well it means I'm a god at sex." He giggles,suddenly giddy from the serotonin pumping through his oversensitive body.

John chuckles himself. "Yeah, I suppose you are."

Sherlock falls boneless next to John, and they lie next to each other in several minutes of pure, aching love.

Sherlock turns to look at John, sweat soaking his hair, the lacy bra. Sherlock wants to fuck him all over again.

“Thank you, John, for entertaining my silly fantasy. I - You're too good for me." Oh no. _Not now._  
  
Sentiment, that dreadful thing suddenly chokes him up. "Would I be insane if I told you, I’m afraid I'll lose you one day? Again. To another woman like I had with --,” Sherlock smacks his lips together, unable to finalize her name. “I can't bear that loss again, John.”

“Shhh,” John shushes him, kisses a trail along his neck. "I loved her, but not like I love you. She was a placeholder and that's - well it isn't something I'm proud of, but it's the truth. He looks at Sherlock now, his deep blue eyes full of love. "I always thought of you when I was with her."

 _Oh_.

They fall asleep cuddling one another to the sound of carolers outside.


End file.
